June, 2011

Potential Pitfalls: Writing Blind (v1.0)

Like all great potential pitfalls, this one is tricky because it involves a balancing act.

First, my inspiration for this post.

Exhibit 1: Riley Redgate’s post on writing what you know (or not)

Exhibit 2: Allison Winn Scotch’s post on whether writers must be readers

These got me thinking about something I’ve come across, and a trap I hope I’ve steered well clear of—writing a novel with no knowledge of the genre/category.

Yes, I’ve seen writers attempting a fantasy without ever reading any. Others writing for teens without reading a single book from the YA shelves.

I’m sure if you look, you can find a handful of examples where an author did their own thing without any real knowledge of what came before, and yet was wildly successful. Perhaps I’ll do another Potential Pitfalls post on acting like exceptions are the rule. More often, the writer’s lack of reader-knowledge is neon-sign obvious.

How so? A common sign in YA is teen characters that feel like they were written by an adult. The voice is off, the actions don’t fit—either coming across as a stiff adult in a teen’s body, or falling deep into stereotype. Sometimes it’s harder to put my finger on, but I have this instinctive feeling that the writer (a) has little-to-no meaningful contact with teens, and (b) hasn’t read a YA novel published within the last five years (or even ten).

But like I said, it’s a balancing act, because there’s another pitfall right across from this one: Unintentional Rip-Off. Oh, and there’s one in front of it, too: Authorial Laryngitis (Loss of Voice).

I know some writers that don’t read fiction while they’re drafting a novel (but may read non-fiction during that time). That’s a strategy that makes sense to me. Some of us are susceptible to having another writer’s voice seep into ours if we’re reading and drafting at the same time.

I guess the bottom line is, know the conventions and requirements of your genre, but find your own voice and story. You know what they say, if it were easy …

Any opinions on reading within your genre? I didn’t discuss reading other genres, but there are benefits there as well. Thoughts?

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Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Six)

The catch-up links: One, Two, Three, Four, and Five.

And now, we get some action and drama. Enjoy!

Part Six: Unlikely Allies

I wake up to a sharp sting on my cheek.

“Ow,” I murmur, rubbing my face.

“It’s about time you woke up, Dogbreath!” I hear a squeaky voice say. I turn around and find Rue.

“Rue? Why didn’t you kill me?” I ask. The little, dark-skinned girl glares at me.

“I could if you want me to!” she threatens. I shrink away from her.

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay. Well, I was thinking we could be allies,” she proposes.

“Allies?” I rub my head, which hurts like hell. “Why would you want to be allies with me?”

“Easy, you’re good at shooting that thing.” She gestures toward the bow and arrow. “And I am good with plant identification since I’m from District 11. We would make a good team.”

“Well, alright,” I agree. We shake hands.

“Now, let’s move, Toilet Licker!” Rue commands.

I grab my bow and arrows. “Uh, I have a question.”

“Well, out with it!”

“How many people died at the Cornastupia yesterday? And keep your voice down!” I whisper to her.

“Half, so twelve are left. Actually, now there are eleven since the Cracker Jackers killed stupid Glitter,” Rue tells me. “But I have a plan.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Let’s blow up the Careers’ stuff!”

“Why? The stuff they have is stupid.”

“True, but they’ll find a use for it, and it’s fun blowing stuff up!” Rue squeals, almost jittering with excitement.

“Also true,” I admit. “How will we blow it up?”

“The Careers had a guy from District Three activate land mines from the arena entrances and put them around their supplies. There are some Teletubby figurines hanging off a crate of apples. Just shoot the crate with your weapon and make the figures fall. Then, it’ll go boom!”

“Alright, I like it,” I say.

“Great, I will stay here with the stuff while you go do that. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go do it, dum-dum!” Rue screams at me.

So I do. I march over to the Careers’ camp by the lake, and I spot their stuff. I will allow myself only three arrows to make the Teletubbies fall. I shoot the first arrow. It just makes them shake. I shoot the second arrow. They inch closer to the edge. I shoot the third arrow and they finally fall, making the stockpile explode. I’m thrown back and land next to a charred Barney doll. I listen for footsteps. I hear some in one ear, but the other ear is deaf.

I get up and run for Rue. I arrive at the spot where Rue is supposed to be and see her battling a guy in a Batman suit. It must be Marvel, the guy from District 1. Who else would wear a superhero costume?

“Katnip! Help!” Rue yells.

“Cat naps yelp?” I ask, confused.

“No, help!”

“No kelp?”

“No! He—”

Marvel kills Rue with a Batarang, and he throws one at me. I bend over. Marvel takes out another one.

“I’m coming for you!”

I hear singing. Pita! He gets the Batarang that was aimed at me and he throws it at Marvel, who falls to the ground dead. Pita runs away, limping while singing.

“I’ll never let you go!”

Wow, Pita saved me. I turn to look at him again, but he’s gone. I go over to Rue’s body and kick it.

“Sorry you died, dogbreath,” I say mournfully.

* * * * *

Next time, Part Seven: Beaver Fever.

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Potential Pitfalls: Dead Horse Beating

I’m going to start an occasional series on potential pitfalls in fiction. Mostly things I’ve noticed (and am trying to eradicate) in my own work, or things that irk me as a reader.

First up, the over-explanation, telling readers what they already know. It can happen in a range of ways, including single line statements-of-obvious. I’m focusing more on full explanations in dialogue. It’s sort of the opposite of As-You-Know-Bob syndrome. In this case, Bob doesn’t know the following information, but the reader does.

And it’s really, really annoying to read.

There are times one character needs to explain to another what has happened, what the plan is, etc. I can only think of a few times this should happen “live” on the page.

1. When revealing information previously withheld from the reader. I have a little of this in one of my novels, where I’ve only hinted at things, until the MC reveals her secrets later on. Hopefully (if I’ve pulled it off right), this kind of explanation is rewarding to the reader, verifying their guesses or giving some surprises.
2. When the explain-ee’s reaction is important to the plot. Is this information going to prompt a major event? Divorce filing? Attempted murder? Okay, maybe something a little less extreme could work, too.
3. When the explain-ee will have new information to add. Maybe the reader already knows the MC’s half of the story, but another character may have info to fill in gaps that change the whole outlook.

(Could have sworn I had a #4 in mind. Will add if I remember it.)

An important note: #1 is often the only time you might need to play out the full conversation. Many of these are situations where tell-don’t-show is actually the best course. (I summarized everything we knew so far.)

In most other situations where it’s necessary to fill in another character, there’s one strategy I find particularly effective: the art of the skillful scene/chapter break.

Character 1: “We have a lot to talk about.”

BREAK

Character 2: “Say WHAT?” (or other appropriate reaction)

Can you think of other situations where playing out information the reader already knows may be desirable? Do you have strategies for avoiding the for-Pete’s-sake-we-already-know-this reaction from your readers?

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Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Five)

For those just tuning in: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four.

I have to say, I adore the final line of this part. It’s just so … well, you’ll see.

Part Five: Cracker Jackers

I climb a tall tree and hide my eyesore of a backpack. Soon, the voices take shape, and I see who they are—Careers, from the wealthier districts. Careers spend their whole lives training for the Hunger Pangs. They think it’s an honor to be chosen. Usually, the winner is one of the Careers. These Careers seem to have made a pact to work together until everyone but them is dead, and then they’ll go against each other.

“What did you get from the Cornastupia?” a guy whose name I think is Baito asks.

“I got this lousy bow and arrow set,” a girl named Glitter answers. I know it’s an odd name; her parents are celebrities.

I want her bow and arrow set, but I’m not sure how to get it. I see movement in the tree next to me. My head quickly turns in the direction of the movement. It’s a girl named Rue from District 11. Man, she’s an angry girl! She tells everybody they’ll rue the day, but no one ever did anything to her.

Rue points to something above me, and I see what it is. A nest of Cracker Jackers. The Crapitol makes these strange animals sometimes, like the Hamburjay and the Cracker Jackers. the Cracker Jackers are shaped like crackers, but they pack quite a sting. They make you feel terrible and hallucinate if you get stung by one.

“Thank you,” I mouth to her. I break off a stick from the tree, but the Careers never notice. I shove the Cracker Jacker nest so it falls on them. Baito and a few other Careers scatter, but Glitter isn’t so lucky. The Cracker Jackers are on her immediately. Hmm, they must hate Bradgelina, her celebrity parents.

I race down the tree and pry the bow and arrow set from her dying hands. Then, I run for it.

I notice I’m surrounded by butterflies. I dance with them, and they start to land on my arms, tickling me. I start giggling. Then, one lands on my nose. I cry out. The butterflies look like Donald Trump!

“Aaaaah!” I scream. Then butterflies cover me, tickling me so I collapse in a fit of laughter and screaming. Then I drown; I drown in a sea of butterflies.

* * * * *

Next up, Part Six: Unlikely Allies.

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Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Four)

If you’re late to the game(s), get caught up: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.

Part Four: The Hunger Pangs Begin

The next morning, we are taken to the arena of the Hunger Pangs. I wave goodbye to the Crapitol and sit back in my seat. I’m being sent to my death, and worse, I’m being sent to my death with Pita Hellark. He’s humming the tune “Overboard,” so I plug my ears. After a while, the windows of the plane go black. We’re almost to the arena.

“Pita, you better pray,” I advise him.

Pita closes his eyes. “I close my eyes, and I can see a better day. I close my eyes and pray,” he sings quietly.

“Shut up!” I tell him. Miraculously, he does.

The plane lands, and we are put in tubes that take us to the arena, which is a forest similar to the one in District 12. I look at my outfit which consists of a green shirt that matches my skin color, simple pants, a thin jacket that reflects heat, and my Hamburjay pin. Haysnitch gave Pita and me some advice before we were sent here. I run his words in my mind again.

“Don’t get anything from the Cornastupia. Just run and try not to die,” Haysnitch told me earlier. The Cornastupia is filled with stupid, useless things such a matchbox cars, Windex, or pressed flowers. The list goes on. Sometimes, though, you can find a use for them.

I look at the arena. There’s a lake to the right, and the rest is just woods. Most of the contestants will obviously go to the lake because of the water, so I will want to head into the forest. I observe the items at the Cornastupia. There’s a backpack a few feet from me and a kid set of bows and arrows a bit farther. I don’t care what Haysnitch says. I’m going to get something, and then I will run for my life.

Then something like an elk’s mating call sounds. That must be the bell. Oh dear, I just lost a few seconds figuring that out, so I start moving. I sprint for the backpack, but I feel something hit me. A contestant behind me is pounding a stuffed animal that looks like Big Bird on me. I have to run faster. Death by Big Bird would be terrible!

I grab the backpack and sprint for the forest, but I slam into this huge, olive-skinned boy. He has a Tonka truck hoisted high. I duck before the toy can slam into my head. Then I run as far away from the Cornastupia as I can. When I feel too tired to keep running, I stop and check out my backpack.

“It’s hot pink with Barbie and Ken on it, eww,” I complain. I open it and find a Barbie water bottle, Barbie sleeping bag, Barbie camp chair, and Barbie flashlight. Oh, there’s also a Barbie tent. I think, overall, I probably got a good deal. Normally, few things in the Cornastupia are for camping. I continue hiking until I suddenly hear voices behind me.

* * * * *

Come back for Part Five: Cracker Jackers!

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Boundaries of Bashing

My perfectionism makes me a little critical. (For evidence, see my opinion on eBook formatting or my breakdown of e-reader apps.) This extends pretty much to all areas of my life.

In my day job, I spend a lot of time around ASL interpreters. I frequently find myself feeling conflicted. On one side, I’ve known some seriously awesome interpreters, and I know without a doubt I can’t do their job. In fact, I’ve had to in a pinch once or twice. One of those occasions sparked a near panic-attack. (There’s a reason interpreters usually work in pairs and switch off every 20-30 minutes. When I got to around 45 minutes, I went into vapor lock.)

On the other side, mistakes drive me nuts. Or worse, when I see a completely unqualified interpreter botching up everything. When I’m in a position where I’m signing and an interpreter is voicing for me, I pray to have earplugs. For one thing, it’s just hard to concentrate. For another, any little pause or minor misinterpretation convinces me my signing skills are really that terrible.

And I admit, sometimes after enduring something with a really poor interpreter, I have to vent a little to one of my colleagues.

Even then, I try to remind myself at all times that it’s an extremely difficult job—one I cannot do. I try to keep my venting to appropriate venues. When I’m in a position to help an interpreter improve, I do what I can. At the end of the day, I respect their effort, their training, and the difficulty of their job. And by and large, the interpreters I’ve dealt with fall into the Camp of Awesome.

What’s my point? Oh, look, here comes a writing connection!

It’s likewise easy from the writer’s side of things to criticize how others in the industry do their jobs. Gripe about agents’ long response times. Claim editors are out-of-touch. Rant about the stupidity of anyone and everyone in the publishing business.

There are certainly valid criticisms and discussions to be had on many publishing topics. When it crosses into agent/editor/publisher-bashing, I get a yucky feeling. It just ain’t pretty, and it’s definitely not professional.

Yes, I’m sure they make mistakes. I’m sure there are things they could (and maybe should) do better. Everyone on this planet has room to improve, even (especially) in our areas of expertise. But respect the job, respect the effort, respect the experience and training. Bashing is never the result of respect.

And for more on handling ourselves professionally, check out this post. Yeah, I’m even critical about responding to criticism.

Where do you draw that line between criticism/accountability and straight-up bashing?

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